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Literature Text
Chapter 14 – Innervision [Sacred Silence]
Tiny waves capped with lines of foam lapped gently on the golden shore. The sun beamed down from its vantage point high in the perfectly azure sky. Summer looked around her; from where she sat she could see miles of empty beach, to her back, a thick tropical jungle. Mere feet from her chair lay an endless expanse of softly flowing water. To her side, Flow sat in the sand, one claw on a drink in a coconut shell. The beat of the waves quietly breaking on the smooth sand matched her own heartbeat, as she gazed out over the sea at the hazy horizon. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, the sand between her toes, the familiar taste of salt in her mouth.
“It’s so beautiful..,” she thought , “so perfect.”
A Wingull flew overhead, squawking loudly, and suddenly the beach faded to black. Summer groggily opened her eyes, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She could see only darkness for a time, but as her eyes adjusted, she realized that she was still in her room, at the Academy. The still-foreign shapes of the desk, the furniture, and the closets took form around her, confirming her realization.
“It was all a dream…” she lamented to herself, “but it was all so real…”
She glanced over towards the water-filled, sand-bottomed tub in the corner, where Flow was sleeping soundly. The Krabby produced little bubbles from his mouth with each slow breath, his pincers on the sand before him. Across the room, the digital blue numbers glowed 2:05. The blond-haired girl took one more look at the sleeping river crab Pokemon and rolled over, hoping to return once more to the perfect beach before it vanished again.
Alex stood atop the tallest peak in Johto, the blizzard swirling around him. He had never felt this exhilarated, all of winter’s wrath surrounding him in an icy cloak. Long since used to the cold, the frigid temperatures failed to reach him. Wind screamed in his ear, the vortex of white obscuring the gray abyss below the verge. Nothing now stood in his way, no-one could stop him from reaching his destiny. With one final, defiant look out into the miasma of silver and white, he stepped onto his board and dropped over the edge. The boy awoke with a start, rolling onto his back and snapping his eyes open. He could swear that he had actually hit the bed as he awoke, the sensation of falling still fresh in his mind. The dark room gradually came into view, his prized snowboard leaning casually in the corner. Gone was the icy breath of the mountain, searing his nostrils with flavorless essences. Snow no longer spiraled around him, cloaking the steely sky with pure white. The young man adjusted his pillow, closing his eyes again.
“Someday,” he thought to himself, “someday.”
The reddish autumn sunlight filtered through the wood-slat window, spilling onto the temple floor before him. Through the wide-open doors, dried leaves of brown and crimson rustled in the mild breeze, scraping on the floor as they aimlessly danced. As the rattling leaves spun in spirals on the floor, the wispy chimes outside rang their peal. Inside the pagoda, a young boy sat cross-legged, silent as the whispering wind. His breathing was slow and light, arms extended to his sides, eyes closed in concentration. Beside him, a small, youthful Bellsprout sat in a similar position, eyes closed in a peaceful fashion. A gust of wind made its way softly through the airy temple, rustling the boy’s green hair and shifting the leaves that scattered on the floor. No bird nor beast made a sound, the utter serenity of the temple is all that Brian desired. Here, removed from the perpetual noise of the city, in the trees and the sun. The natural world wrapped itself around him, all he was, is, and will be. He was home.
Rain, steely gray and icy cold, poured from the cloudy night sky. Cars and trucks roared by in the street, hissing as the water sprayed from their tires. In an alley near the sea, a young man crouched, ducking under a building’s tiny overhang, grateful for the relief that it offered. His clothes were soaked, and the coppery taste of blood tainted his mouth. Everything seemed to exist in shades of gray, especially in this town, in the rain. The sea, rough and pitching, rocked as the storm flowed eastward over the city. Beyond the harbor he could faintly see the Lighthouse, the beacon blinking feebly in the bad weather. The kid glanced up at the emotionless sky with anger, combing his hand through his black hair.
“I shouldn’t have trusted them,” he thought to himself grudgingly, feeling the rainwater soak into his boots. “You’d think that I’d have learned that by now.”
Pulling his duct tape-patched backpack from his shoulder, he unzipped it and glanced inside. His whole life was in there; a CD player, a handful of crumpled papers, and a single pokeball. Resting inside of that ball, Vince knew, was his one true friend in the world. Chrome, he had decided to call the misfit Aron, was just like him. They were both outcasts, forced into this unforgiving world. With one last look behind him, he darted back out from under the overhang and into the storm.
Nathan looked into the mirror, eying the unruly strands of blue hair that dangled onto his forehead. The young man’s glasses gleamed in the bathroom lights as the water dripped from his neatly-combed hair. In the upper corner of the bathroom, Arich clung to the ceiling, watching his master’s preparations. The Spinarak followed the young man back out into the bedroom, walking effortlessly on the ceiling. A wall-mounted bookshelf was stocked with books and manuals of all kinds and dimensions, and the desk in the corner held a modern-looking computer. On the wall hung a chart showing the strengths and weaknesses of the various Pokemon types, which Nathan had long since memorized. Downstairs, he could hear his parents, both scientists with Johtotronics, preparing to leave for work. Nathan buttoned his last shirt button, hoping that after school today he could finish his research on Metapod shells. The warm climate of Azalea Town and proximity to Azalea Forest only bolstered his passion for Bug Pokemon. The recent news of new Pokemon species discovered in the wilds of the various regions sent chills of excitement down his spine. The gangly young man bent to tie his shoe, cursing his lanky frame. Outside his window, his parents’ car pulled out into the street, on its way to the rail station, and the shuttle to Goldenrod. A swarm of Ledyba fluttered by, riding the morning winds and soaking in the sunrise. In its midst, he noted the presence of a rusty gold-colored individual, obscured by the bodies of its crimson-shelled brethren. Nathan, excited as he was by this sight, extracted an ever-present notebook from his backpack. He jotted down his observation, then replaced it in his bag and made his way downstairs, Arich traversing the wall by his side.
In her chambers, Megan was having a hard time falling asleep. She sat upright, crosswise on her bed, back against the cool wall. Mary kneeled next to her, quietly watching her. The Ralts recognized the situation; it was not the first time her trainer had had a psychic flare. On the desk opposite the bed, a spoon sat, contorted into a painful-looking spiral, the result of Megan’s first expulsion of psychic energy. She had been 8 years old then, still a young girl with dark hair and purple eyes. She had never revealed her abilities to her parents, even though she could now control them the majority of the time. As she grew, Megan had taught herself to move and alter small objects with her thoughts, an ability that was both augmented and perfected with Mary’s presence. The two psychics now share a soul link, found commonly in trainers of psychic Pokemon, but rarely without professional training.
“Well, Mary,” Megan said, stretching her legs and looking down at her purple-and-black socks. “You know what to do.”
The Ralts nodded, and hopped down from the bed, landing gently on the floor. The feeling Pokemon made its way over to a bag on the floor, and removed a single piece of metal cutlery.
“Just one spoon?” said Megan gently, mock exasperation hinting her voice.
Mary looked up at the girl, red eyes winking from behind her green crest as she smiled.
“Alright, if you say so,” said Megan, focusing her mind on the silverware that lay on the floor. Moments later, the piece of cutlery rose silently from the ground, a faintly violet glow radiating from it. Slowly the piece bent forwards, backwards, and to either side, all the while hovering unsupported in the air. After a minute or so, Megan could feel herself beginning to weaken, the energy output required to use her abilities taking its toll on her body. Finally she laid her head onto her pillow, barely making it under her blankets before succumbing to sleep. Mary, eyes glowing blue, caught the knotted spoon and gently returned it to the backpack on the ground. The small white Pokemon climbed back into the bed and nestled next to her trainer, shutting her eyes and drifting off to sleep.
Outside the two dormitory wings, a pair of muscular Houndoom vigilantly patrolled the dark, silent halls. Deep within the heart of the complex, a lone figure sat before a computer screen, watching data streams reflecting in real-time from orbiting satellites. Dark eyes reflecting the bluish glow of the screen, focused on a green dot that had begun to blink on the edge of the satellite’s vision.
“Finally, visual proof of my worst fear, my dream, my destiny…”
A countdown of hours, days, weeks, and months had begun, ticking away in this silent room.
-sandragon13
Tiny waves capped with lines of foam lapped gently on the golden shore. The sun beamed down from its vantage point high in the perfectly azure sky. Summer looked around her; from where she sat she could see miles of empty beach, to her back, a thick tropical jungle. Mere feet from her chair lay an endless expanse of softly flowing water. To her side, Flow sat in the sand, one claw on a drink in a coconut shell. The beat of the waves quietly breaking on the smooth sand matched her own heartbeat, as she gazed out over the sea at the hazy horizon. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, the sand between her toes, the familiar taste of salt in her mouth.
“It’s so beautiful..,” she thought , “so perfect.”
A Wingull flew overhead, squawking loudly, and suddenly the beach faded to black. Summer groggily opened her eyes, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She could see only darkness for a time, but as her eyes adjusted, she realized that she was still in her room, at the Academy. The still-foreign shapes of the desk, the furniture, and the closets took form around her, confirming her realization.
“It was all a dream…” she lamented to herself, “but it was all so real…”
She glanced over towards the water-filled, sand-bottomed tub in the corner, where Flow was sleeping soundly. The Krabby produced little bubbles from his mouth with each slow breath, his pincers on the sand before him. Across the room, the digital blue numbers glowed 2:05. The blond-haired girl took one more look at the sleeping river crab Pokemon and rolled over, hoping to return once more to the perfect beach before it vanished again.
Alex stood atop the tallest peak in Johto, the blizzard swirling around him. He had never felt this exhilarated, all of winter’s wrath surrounding him in an icy cloak. Long since used to the cold, the frigid temperatures failed to reach him. Wind screamed in his ear, the vortex of white obscuring the gray abyss below the verge. Nothing now stood in his way, no-one could stop him from reaching his destiny. With one final, defiant look out into the miasma of silver and white, he stepped onto his board and dropped over the edge. The boy awoke with a start, rolling onto his back and snapping his eyes open. He could swear that he had actually hit the bed as he awoke, the sensation of falling still fresh in his mind. The dark room gradually came into view, his prized snowboard leaning casually in the corner. Gone was the icy breath of the mountain, searing his nostrils with flavorless essences. Snow no longer spiraled around him, cloaking the steely sky with pure white. The young man adjusted his pillow, closing his eyes again.
“Someday,” he thought to himself, “someday.”
The reddish autumn sunlight filtered through the wood-slat window, spilling onto the temple floor before him. Through the wide-open doors, dried leaves of brown and crimson rustled in the mild breeze, scraping on the floor as they aimlessly danced. As the rattling leaves spun in spirals on the floor, the wispy chimes outside rang their peal. Inside the pagoda, a young boy sat cross-legged, silent as the whispering wind. His breathing was slow and light, arms extended to his sides, eyes closed in concentration. Beside him, a small, youthful Bellsprout sat in a similar position, eyes closed in a peaceful fashion. A gust of wind made its way softly through the airy temple, rustling the boy’s green hair and shifting the leaves that scattered on the floor. No bird nor beast made a sound, the utter serenity of the temple is all that Brian desired. Here, removed from the perpetual noise of the city, in the trees and the sun. The natural world wrapped itself around him, all he was, is, and will be. He was home.
Rain, steely gray and icy cold, poured from the cloudy night sky. Cars and trucks roared by in the street, hissing as the water sprayed from their tires. In an alley near the sea, a young man crouched, ducking under a building’s tiny overhang, grateful for the relief that it offered. His clothes were soaked, and the coppery taste of blood tainted his mouth. Everything seemed to exist in shades of gray, especially in this town, in the rain. The sea, rough and pitching, rocked as the storm flowed eastward over the city. Beyond the harbor he could faintly see the Lighthouse, the beacon blinking feebly in the bad weather. The kid glanced up at the emotionless sky with anger, combing his hand through his black hair.
“I shouldn’t have trusted them,” he thought to himself grudgingly, feeling the rainwater soak into his boots. “You’d think that I’d have learned that by now.”
Pulling his duct tape-patched backpack from his shoulder, he unzipped it and glanced inside. His whole life was in there; a CD player, a handful of crumpled papers, and a single pokeball. Resting inside of that ball, Vince knew, was his one true friend in the world. Chrome, he had decided to call the misfit Aron, was just like him. They were both outcasts, forced into this unforgiving world. With one last look behind him, he darted back out from under the overhang and into the storm.
Nathan looked into the mirror, eying the unruly strands of blue hair that dangled onto his forehead. The young man’s glasses gleamed in the bathroom lights as the water dripped from his neatly-combed hair. In the upper corner of the bathroom, Arich clung to the ceiling, watching his master’s preparations. The Spinarak followed the young man back out into the bedroom, walking effortlessly on the ceiling. A wall-mounted bookshelf was stocked with books and manuals of all kinds and dimensions, and the desk in the corner held a modern-looking computer. On the wall hung a chart showing the strengths and weaknesses of the various Pokemon types, which Nathan had long since memorized. Downstairs, he could hear his parents, both scientists with Johtotronics, preparing to leave for work. Nathan buttoned his last shirt button, hoping that after school today he could finish his research on Metapod shells. The warm climate of Azalea Town and proximity to Azalea Forest only bolstered his passion for Bug Pokemon. The recent news of new Pokemon species discovered in the wilds of the various regions sent chills of excitement down his spine. The gangly young man bent to tie his shoe, cursing his lanky frame. Outside his window, his parents’ car pulled out into the street, on its way to the rail station, and the shuttle to Goldenrod. A swarm of Ledyba fluttered by, riding the morning winds and soaking in the sunrise. In its midst, he noted the presence of a rusty gold-colored individual, obscured by the bodies of its crimson-shelled brethren. Nathan, excited as he was by this sight, extracted an ever-present notebook from his backpack. He jotted down his observation, then replaced it in his bag and made his way downstairs, Arich traversing the wall by his side.
In her chambers, Megan was having a hard time falling asleep. She sat upright, crosswise on her bed, back against the cool wall. Mary kneeled next to her, quietly watching her. The Ralts recognized the situation; it was not the first time her trainer had had a psychic flare. On the desk opposite the bed, a spoon sat, contorted into a painful-looking spiral, the result of Megan’s first expulsion of psychic energy. She had been 8 years old then, still a young girl with dark hair and purple eyes. She had never revealed her abilities to her parents, even though she could now control them the majority of the time. As she grew, Megan had taught herself to move and alter small objects with her thoughts, an ability that was both augmented and perfected with Mary’s presence. The two psychics now share a soul link, found commonly in trainers of psychic Pokemon, but rarely without professional training.
“Well, Mary,” Megan said, stretching her legs and looking down at her purple-and-black socks. “You know what to do.”
The Ralts nodded, and hopped down from the bed, landing gently on the floor. The feeling Pokemon made its way over to a bag on the floor, and removed a single piece of metal cutlery.
“Just one spoon?” said Megan gently, mock exasperation hinting her voice.
Mary looked up at the girl, red eyes winking from behind her green crest as she smiled.
“Alright, if you say so,” said Megan, focusing her mind on the silverware that lay on the floor. Moments later, the piece of cutlery rose silently from the ground, a faintly violet glow radiating from it. Slowly the piece bent forwards, backwards, and to either side, all the while hovering unsupported in the air. After a minute or so, Megan could feel herself beginning to weaken, the energy output required to use her abilities taking its toll on her body. Finally she laid her head onto her pillow, barely making it under her blankets before succumbing to sleep. Mary, eyes glowing blue, caught the knotted spoon and gently returned it to the backpack on the ground. The small white Pokemon climbed back into the bed and nestled next to her trainer, shutting her eyes and drifting off to sleep.
Outside the two dormitory wings, a pair of muscular Houndoom vigilantly patrolled the dark, silent halls. Deep within the heart of the complex, a lone figure sat before a computer screen, watching data streams reflecting in real-time from orbiting satellites. Dark eyes reflecting the bluish glow of the screen, focused on a green dot that had begun to blink on the edge of the satellite’s vision.
“Finally, visual proof of my worst fear, my dream, my destiny…”
A countdown of hours, days, weeks, and months had begun, ticking away in this silent room.
-sandragon13
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Chapter 14 is a bit different than any of the previous chapters. Every dozen or so chapters, I decided to pause the story and insert a chapter of reflection from the point-of-view of some of my characters. This particular chapter shows 6 of my characters during their first night passed at the Academy, their reactions, and a peek into their pasts. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.
-sandragon13
-sandragon13
© 2007 - 2024 sandragon13
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i really like this one...there's a lot of imagery, and like what you said...the pause in the story. I liked that and you didn't go off too much cause you brought the story back into motion at the end.
whoo. comments
whoo. comments